go?"
"Soon."
George Washington read the letter with interest. As a rule, he was not given to smiling, but the edges of his mouth twitched perceptibly. Tall, thin, and muscular, the commander in chief of the Continental Army was a dignified man in a well-cut uniform. Though he was in his midforties, the cares of office and the vagaries of warfare had made him seem older. He and Ezekiel Proudfoot were at Whitemarsh, a mixed camp of tents and brushwood huts that had been hastily erected in the hills some thirteen miles north of Philadelphia. The army had a good defensive position, but there was little threat from the British soldiers who had occupied the rebel capital. Winter was at hand. It was a time to postpone hostilities until warmer weather.
"Good news, General?" asked Proudfoot.
"Very satisfying," replied the other. "You've brought us luck once again, Ezekiel. I haven't forgotten that our victories at Trenton and at Princeton were achieved when you were there."
"I can't pretend that I was responsible for either. I was only there to record the event, not to take part in it."
"Your presence always brings us good fortune."
"I wish that were true."
"It is true," said Washington half-seriously. "You were at Saratoga when we achieved that magnificent triumph over the British. And as soon as you come back to me," he went on, holding up the letter, "I receive a copy of this from Congress."
"What is it, sir?"
"A fatal mistake."
"Is that to our advantage?"
"Oh, I think so. Our hands are no longer tied."
Proudfoot would like to have read the letter, but Washington stood up behind his desk and slipped the missive into his pocket. They were in the wooden hut that was being used as a temporary headquarters. While he was no soldier, Ezekiel Proudfoot was dedicated to the rebel cause and helped it in the way he knew best. A talented silversmith, he made engravings of anymilitary advances against the British and found a ready market for his prints. Some appeared in newspapers and gave a much-needed boost to the morale of the Continental Army and the local militias. Washington was quick to recognize the importance of the work that Proudfoot was doing.
"The drawings you made at Saratoga are excellent," he said.
"I can't vouch for their accuracy, General. So much was happening on the battlefield at the same time that it was difficult to know what to record. Freeman's Farm was confusing enough," recalled Proudfoot, "but the action at Bemis Heights was even more bewildering. I watched it from the branches of a tree."
"And you caught all the drama of the occasion."
"I'm not sure how I did it. My hand was shaking."
"Daniel Morgan was delighted with that sketch you made of him, and the sight of Benedict Arnold on his horse was inspiring. He's a real daredevil on the field of battle. What I didn't see," Washington went on with a hint of reproach, "was any drawing of General Gates."
"He remained in his tent during the action."
"So I understand."
"He felt able to control affairs more easily from there."
"The only way to control a battle is to be directly involved in it. However, his strategy clearly worked on the day and, for that, Horatio Gates deserves congratulation." His face clouded slightly. "I just wish that he'd had the grace to tell me about it."
"Did he not write to you?" asked Proudfoot.
"He sent word of his victory to Congress. They informed me."
"But you are the commander in chief."
"I'm glad that someone remembers that."
Ezekiel Proudfoot was not entirely surprised by the news. He had got sufficiently close to Horatio Gates to learn something of his character and ambition. It was clear that the victor of Saratoga thought himself a better soldier than George Washington and believed that he should replace him in overall command of the Continental Army. In his opinion, Proudfoot had no doubt that Congress had chosen the right man. They might criticize his patience and restraint, but Washington could show
"Soon."
George Washington read the letter with interest. As a rule, he was not given to smiling, but the edges of his mouth twitched perceptibly. Tall, thin, and muscular, the commander in chief of the Continental Army was a dignified man in a well-cut uniform. Though he was in his midforties, the cares of office and the vagaries of warfare had made him seem older. He and Ezekiel Proudfoot were at Whitemarsh, a mixed camp of tents and brushwood huts that had been hastily erected in the hills some thirteen miles north of Philadelphia. The army had a good defensive position, but there was little threat from the British soldiers who had occupied the rebel capital. Winter was at hand. It was a time to postpone hostilities until warmer weather.
"Good news, General?" asked Proudfoot.
"Very satisfying," replied the other. "You've brought us luck once again, Ezekiel. I haven't forgotten that our victories at Trenton and at Princeton were achieved when you were there."
"I can't pretend that I was responsible for either. I was only there to record the event, not to take part in it."
"Your presence always brings us good fortune."
"I wish that were true."
"It is true," said Washington half-seriously. "You were at Saratoga when we achieved that magnificent triumph over the British. And as soon as you come back to me," he went on, holding up the letter, "I receive a copy of this from Congress."
"What is it, sir?"
"A fatal mistake."
"Is that to our advantage?"
"Oh, I think so. Our hands are no longer tied."
Proudfoot would like to have read the letter, but Washington stood up behind his desk and slipped the missive into his pocket. They were in the wooden hut that was being used as a temporary headquarters. While he was no soldier, Ezekiel Proudfoot was dedicated to the rebel cause and helped it in the way he knew best. A talented silversmith, he made engravings of anymilitary advances against the British and found a ready market for his prints. Some appeared in newspapers and gave a much-needed boost to the morale of the Continental Army and the local militias. Washington was quick to recognize the importance of the work that Proudfoot was doing.
"The drawings you made at Saratoga are excellent," he said.
"I can't vouch for their accuracy, General. So much was happening on the battlefield at the same time that it was difficult to know what to record. Freeman's Farm was confusing enough," recalled Proudfoot, "but the action at Bemis Heights was even more bewildering. I watched it from the branches of a tree."
"And you caught all the drama of the occasion."
"I'm not sure how I did it. My hand was shaking."
"Daniel Morgan was delighted with that sketch you made of him, and the sight of Benedict Arnold on his horse was inspiring. He's a real daredevil on the field of battle. What I didn't see," Washington went on with a hint of reproach, "was any drawing of General Gates."
"He remained in his tent during the action."
"So I understand."
"He felt able to control affairs more easily from there."
"The only way to control a battle is to be directly involved in it. However, his strategy clearly worked on the day and, for that, Horatio Gates deserves congratulation." His face clouded slightly. "I just wish that he'd had the grace to tell me about it."
"Did he not write to you?" asked Proudfoot.
"He sent word of his victory to Congress. They informed me."
"But you are the commander in chief."
"I'm glad that someone remembers that."
Ezekiel Proudfoot was not entirely surprised by the news. He had got sufficiently close to Horatio Gates to learn something of his character and ambition. It was clear that the victor of Saratoga thought himself a better soldier than George Washington and believed that he should replace him in overall command of the Continental Army. In his opinion, Proudfoot had no doubt that Congress had chosen the right man. They might criticize his patience and restraint, but Washington could show
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